


Who Loves, Raves

by SouthernCross



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: F/M, Fucked Up, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, Twisted, i love them, i shouldn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15726012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernCross/pseuds/SouthernCross
Summary: Her hands slid over his; her fingers lacing with his. A part of her was trying to make her listen, to hear that he was not for her, that these hands had killed and hurt so many people. She ignored the voice and squeezed his hands tight.





	Who Loves, Raves

Walking through the halls now was a strange event. Her eyes were constantly looking, her brain continually scanning. Was that where he had stood, what he had touched? Was the water fountain she preferred one that he liked? Had they shared the same AP Biology stool?

Those thoughts she could justify, a simple curiosity that was all she was indulging in. Nothing harmful in that, but then she had always been good at rationalizing.

People watching had always been her thing, something she was also good at; she excelled at observation. Her fascination now with the bodies walking by was stretching to new and slightly obsessive heights. Every opportunity she could find she would find a spot, preferably in the quad where she could sneak a smoke, and watch hard. Was the blonde girl with the blue shirt a thief? Was the boy in a button-down nice to his grandparents? Was the girl in pink jeans an animal lover? Could the boy with headphones really go to college out of state? Which one of them could take out a gun and shoot her in the face?

The web sites had speculated about the victims. What had been their connection, because there had to be a connection? Had they been bullies that no one wanted to acknowledge? Were they lovers, friends in secret? There were theories that added the dates of death and birth and multiplied them by the minutes the shooting had lasted; she wasn't too clear about the math for that one. What had been clear as she had poured over the sites was that people had been desperate for a why and had sometimes gone to stupid extremes for the answer.

The only person that could answer that was dead, or had been dead and there was no way she could ask him.

No fucking way.

Best to put that thought out of her head.

There was one observation she continually found herself making as the cigarette in her hand was burning towards the filter. She would watch the quiet, oddly-beautiful boys and wonder if any of them could connect with her like Tate had. Could any of them after doing so come into class and shoot her?

Would Tate have killed her?

She didn't want to think about that.

Couldn't think about it; couldn't stop thinking about it.

Because what he had done indicated who he had been and that went almost completely against the Tate she knew now; she couldn't reconcile the thoughts.

Maybe there was something broken or missing inside of her because when faced with the cold hard online search results she couldn't picture the Tate who had held her so tightly in the bathtub sticking a gun in her face.

Was that naïve? Probably; did she care? Not anymore.

The big moral questions had never been an issue when their house had been normal and on a different coast.

Her old neighborhood had also been smaller so the walk home had taken twenty minutes less than it did now. Despite the shining sun, not at all special because all it did was shine sunny here, she resented the extra time she had to spend in the public eye.

There might be some benefit to playing the angsty teen card and get her Mom to let her use the car a couple days a week or at least pick her up from school. Her Dad was making an effort, insisting he drive her 'so they could connect', it wasn't like her Mom had anything important to do.

The rush of resentment towards her Mom had been steadily building. More than likely it wasn't fair, her Dad had been an asshole cheater, but it was her Mom who had totally crumbled after the truth spilled out. What had happened to the strong woman she had used to admire?

Depending that much on someone else, even if it was your spouse, giving the power to absolute destroy you, was never going to happen to her; she wouldn't let it.

At least she could say that now, walking in the sunshine with just her speculative thoughts and a cigarette. The nasty little voice in the back of her mind liked to remind her where she would be if Tate hadn't dragged her to the bathroom; hypocrite much?

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad having other people to depend on.

She tossed the cigarette butt pinched between her fingers and the heavy thoughts aside; too much thinking for one afternoon.

Her corner was finally approaching; home.

"How was hell high?"

His voice didn't make her jump as it sometimes did. She grinned at him in the reflection of her mirror; he was wearing the blue and green sweater she liked.

"I kicked a little ass and took a lot of names," he grinned back at her.

"May I" he pointed to hair brush in her hand. She looked down at it not sure if it was really what he wanted.

"Seriously" she watched, amazed when he nodded and took it from her. He held it confidently in his hand, for a second she saw the black grip of a handgun; she blinked, the image disappeared.

"Come here," he took her hand and pulled her to the bed. Sitting between his legs, her hands fisted in her lap, she wasn't sure what to do with any of her limbs.

"Relax Violet," the whisper at her ear relaxed all the stiff bones in her body. The power he held over her was more than likely too much and way unhealthy.

No one had brushed her hair since she was little; her Mom's obsession with her own hair had made her completely indifferent to her own. There was no way she would spend more than thirty minutes just to get her hair to fall perfectly over her right shoulder.

Her snort was audible, Tate leaned forward, "Something funny?"

"Uh, no, just this is so young adult novel."

His chuckle was warm against her ear, his hand slid up her back she shivered as he scooped the hair off the back of her neck. There was more touching than she remembered.

The first pull of the bristles through her strands was absolutely delicious.

She seriously had to bite back a groan after the second stroke.

How had this never happened to her before?

"Feels good," the smugness in his voice was clear, asshole?

Sighing indifferently it took all her self-control to ignore his laugh, she didn't want it too, but it felt really damn good.

Stupid hair brush.

"You know it's ok to admit that you like it," over her dead body, "It won't make you any less fierce warrior goddess."

Laughing she tilted her head back content to give him more access and deliver more pleasure.

"Yeah, you know like Xena I could totally see you rocking a sword." She bet he could.

"The outfit wouldn't hurt, right?"

He leaned his chin on her shoulder.

"I wouldn't complain about that," the kiss to her shoulder made her squirm in a totally different place. "At all," the husky tone of his voice had her twisting for a look.

Before she could find his eyes his lips found hers.

Their connection was brief just long enough to make her pulse thump and the room spin when she opened her eyes.

"Stop distracting me." His words were jumbled in her head; she wasn't sure who was distracting her. There was a tug on her scalp she didn't even protest when he pushed her head forward.

His hands were positively magic. There may have been a moment or two that she might have dozed off, she would call it more of a hypnotic state. Soon though his hands stilled on her shoulders, her eyes blinked open, her vision blurry.

"Violet." He whispered into her ear.

"Hmm," she really could not do words right now.

"Nothing, I just like your name." Smiling she indulged in their moment and leaned back against his chest. He took her weight like she knew he would, his arms wrapping loosely around her waist.

Her hands slid over his her fingers lacing with his. A part of her was trying to make her listen, to hear that he was not for her, that these hands had killed and hurt so many people.

She ignored the voice and squeezed his hands tight.

She had always been good at rationalizing.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing and mean no harm. Please review and hit the little heart!


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